But More With Love
by Cornadopia
Summary: The feud is over. The last of the shadows have fallen upon Verona. Can a young Venetian boy bring the life and passion back into the city - even if he was born into the wake of hate? Sequel to "Mercutio and Allegra". R&R.


Note: This is strictly experimental. I know how many other Shakespeare-related stories I've posted on here that were never finished. It's because I've got another priority - a private series. I'm writing this because there are themes and emotions that I've never gotten around to portraying, so I want to see if they work here.

But anyway, whether or not this works out, this is supposed to be a sequel to "Mercutio and Allegra", my other, twenty-five-chapter-long romance on this site. It's set nine years after the epilogue, and fifteen years after the original "Romeo and Juliet"; the year is 1315. The ruling systems of medieval Italy (Verona and Venice in particular) are the big thing here.

Tell me what you think. Love it, hate it, I'm yours.

See you at the end,

Cornadopia

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The wind blew the final flakes of snow in circles, passing by the windows of Venice and leaving a sentiment; it was not winter, not spring, not any new day. Yet the air was blowing, the work was done, the bread was broken.

His gondolier – an acquaintance of his father who was very kind to all affiliated with him – parked him near the piazza, calling that there would be no charge and giving a cheerful smile which Mercutio returned. No sooner had he reached the grand piazza - which wasn't a block away from church - than did a familiar whistle call him from the other end of the grand pizza. Mercutio returned the whistle and ran to meet Claudio, who bent over to breathlessly pull at the hose on his knees.

"Good morrow. I have a new riddle for thee," Mercutio said. "What's black and white and -"

But Claudio was shaking his head. "Nay, Mercutio - I have a riddle for _thee_. What's an idiot that is late?"

Mercutio waved his hand. "Oh, come on - thou hast been late before. This morning my house was in chaos; my father is gone to meet with the Council this morning, and my Uncle Benvolio came to teach me Latin but shooed me away when I told him I had plans to meet thou and Frederico here. Where's the villain yet?" He stood on his toes, searching the crowded piazza for his friend like a whaler scanning a rippling sea.

Claudio rolled his eyes. "Your excuses are petty, Mercutio; thou art always late and a wondrously bad liar, wordsmith or not. Come, let us walk; I've a word for you and Frederico will be along by and by." He grabbed Mercutio's sleeve. Shrugging, Mercutio followed along, taking two pastries from the sack he carried and popping them into his mouth in alternating bites.

They came to Frederico's house and waited at his gate. It was not as large as Mercutio's nor Claudio's, but whiter and covered in vines; Mercutio had always envied him for having such a short walk to school, with no gondola required at all. His own house was by the _ponte__di__rialto_ all the way across the canal, near Antonio's house, and the house of his Uncle Benvolio. While Claudio was purple in the face and wrung his hands, Mercutio hummed and swung his little bag of pastries back and forth, marching back and forth like a patrolling guard until Claudio looked at him and growled, "Wilt thou stop? I have called thee here for thy own sake. There is bad news."

"How bad? Hath Rome fallen?"

"Nay," said Claudio, lowering his voice and moving closer to his smaller friend. "Someone is trying to best thee."

Mercutio drew back and pretended to gasp. "To best me? Not at my song, or my muse? Or my beauty? And surely not my dance! Ya da tah da, ya da tah dah -"

"Mercutio, I prithee heed me," Claudio said, leaning against Frederico's wall in near defeat. "'Tis at thy repuation. Thy mask for Carneval tomorrow night, dost thou remember?"

Freezing in the midst of his dance, Mercutio replied, "Ay. My lion mask. What of't?"

"Someone hath -"

But at that moment, Frederico dashed down the path to his gate and thrust it open. Mercutio let out a roar of pleasure to see a less uptight friend and patted Frederico's shoulder. "The word, my man, the word?"

"I will tell thee what I heard at mass yester-day," said Frederico as the three boys started into the piazza again. "Basilio da Peraga and his younger brother talked about thee, Mercutio. They were sitting behind mine parents and I, and so I heard every word. He says the idea for a lion masque was his first and not thine, and he will wear't, and thou canst be damned if thou dost as well."

Lips pursed, Mercutio was nodding and taking in Frederico's words. "Is that all? Your Claudio, alas, weaved for me a riveting story of terror that shot fear up my very spine."

Frederico ran his fingers through his short auburn hair. He and Claudio looked a bit alike when they were nervous, thought Mercutio. "Nay, that's not all. Or, 'tis not all he says is his and not thine."

"What more could I have stolen from that stinking monkey?" Mercutio asked.

"Alessandra," Claudio and Frederico said in one voice.

"Ohh."

There was a silence. Then Frederico said, "Well…wilt thou answer such an insult?"

Mercutio wolfed down the rest of his cream-filled pastry and licked each finger. His friends and their pages had their eyebrows raised. "Meh.."

"Thou wilt not?" Frederico cried. "But 'tis perfectly placed! Thou wilt approach him, demand he admit the masque and lady are thine, and then wilt thou -"

"Nay, Frederico," Claudio insisted, glaring at Frederico; his stocky friend had his fists in the air, punching an imaginary foe. "Mercutio is wise. He will reason with Basilio like a good Christian and bid him leave him alone, for his father is in the Council of Ten."

"Pshaw," Mercutio said, cutting the two of them off. "My father would not have his son promote his position in Venice's offices of nobility. I will wear the mask yet, all the nights we go. I am handsomer than he."

Frederico snickered. "Marry, then wear it. But wilt thou not approach him for what he said about she that thou art courting?"

Mercutio pretended to yawn. "Ho, hum. Such a fight is a waste of time, good friend, for Alessandra would ne'er run off with da Peraga in favor of the King of Venice."

Claudio and Frederico exchanged surprised glances. "How canst thou be sure?" Claudio said. "Thou art the son of Mercutio of the Council, and his only son at that; and thou lives't so well -"

"Wondrous well." Mercutio gave Claudio a wink.

"- but thou art fourteen, and short, and without hair on thy face nor a rapier of thy own." Mercutio narrowed his eyes. Claudio continued, "Basilio is seventeen, with a goat's beard and muscles larger than thy head. If thou carest for Alessandra, thou must set Basilio straight, and we all think she is a good match for thee and thou for her. Thou canst not tell me thou carest for her not?"

Mercutio tried to walk normally, and for the sake of his friend, try to picture Alessandra's face and decide she was worth fighting over. Still, all he could picture were chicken legs, a long, bent nose and slits for eyes that were a shade of brown too ugly for a civil name. But as long as Uncle Benvolio was angry with him, the day was his to seize. What was the harm in creating a little turmoil once in awhile?

"Marry, I've time," Mercutio decided, leaping around to face his friends. They stopped, Frederico grinning and Claudio with raised eyebrows. "Come, my little monsters; let us seek out the bastard Basilio and find felicity in my ferocity. Who is the lion, Frederico, who is the lion?"

"Thou art! Thou art the lion, Mercutio!"

Mercutio and Fredrico took off running through the piazza, leaving Claudio to groan. "No violence, my friends! No violence!"

One ride down the canal, one detour at the sweet vendor's, and two sugar figs each, and the boys were fully prepared for Basilio da Peraga. Mercutio, at first, bid the gondolier leave them right at the steps of the da Peraga estate, but Claudio protested. So they took the back-streets, and it was easier. Basilio himself was outside already, with a herd of friends and admirers with whom he laughed and made merry, and they did not notice the three boys approach them.

Claudio, who was always a little behind, caught up with his friends and grabbed Mercutio's shoulder. "Do not stir a foot, Mercutio," he heaved. "He's a rapier, thou hast naught but thine fists. Thou art a gentleman, he is a swine."

"_Thou_ art a swine, Claudio," Frederico snarled, "for retaining him! Go, Mercutio, go! Beat down the menace that taunts thee! Go!" He shook Mercutio's other shoulder.

Mercutio gave a snort. "Why, thou art my fiend! Call me Launcelot, or Gobbo, or Launcelot Gobbo…"

Claudio groaned again, in frustration. "Come, Mercutio, I will take thee home if thou canst be reasonable with him."

Mercutio gave a smug smile but didn't have time to assert himself any further; Basilio and his friends had noticed him, and were charging him with squared shoulders and angry faces.

"Good morrow, Signior," Basilio said.

"_Bonjour,__monsieur_." Mercutio made a sweeping bow.

The two groups were like two armies in battle. Basilio was the leader of the larger group, but Mercutio of the prouder. "Are you here to prove to us that you are blonde and fair and the prettiest maid in Venice?" Basilio asked Mercutio.

"Nay, good fellow," Mercutio said. "Just that thou art a monkey, and an ass."

Frederico burst out laughing. "A donkey! A donkey and a monkey!"

Basilio glanced at his friends, who were as old as he was, and also were all armed. "Such a sweet little boy, is he not, my friends? Go home, Mercutio. Thou hast no sword -"

"Right, fair," Mercutio replied, rubbing his fingernails together.

"- but instead thou hast a mother who is waiting at thy house with open arms."

There came to be a tenseness in the air, and all in muscles in Mercutio's body tightened. But he crossed himself, not breaking his battle-ready pose. "Alas, my mother is in Heaven. Nine years ago she died, but before she went Home she left me a note."

"A note?" Basilio said, smirking.

"Ay." Mercutio stepped toward Basilio, who stood his ground. "One that said, if ever a fool should mock me for not having a rapier to carry with me before I am of age, I should jump upon him and beat him till his eyes are jelly." With that, he closed his eyes and raised his hands. "FOR YOU, MY MOTHER!"

Then he jumped upon Basilio. All the boys on earlier side drew back, watching and cheering; all others in the street stopped to look at the fight. Claudio cried out in protest, but Frederico nudged him quiet as their friend tightened his arms around Basilio's neck. Basilio looked like a mad bull, thrashing around and trying to drop Mercutio from his neck. When he finally succeeded, Mercutio only jumped upon him again, this time flattening him. Both sides of cheers doubled. The two of them rolled around on the hard ground; as soon as Mercutio kneed Basilio in the unprintable area did he laugh in triumph and declare Basilio down. Even Claudio could not help but smile.

"Hold, now! HOLD!"

The scene froze. An older man with very little hair and plain clothing pushed in between Mercutio's friends. It was Renaldi, his handler. Mercutio rolled his eyes; he always did when he saw Renaldi and was reminded he still required a handler.

Renaldi helped Mercutio up, and Mercutio, his eyes narrow, followed him in silence. But he nodded at his friends and blew a fuming Basilio a big kiss.

"Pah!" Basilio spat after him; "We shall see who Alessandra wishes to court after I have finished with your pretty little hide."

"We shall see if I let thee keep thine eyes in thy face. Fare thee well, my darlings, fare thee well!" Mercutio bowed.

On the ride home, Renaldi expressed his concerns. "I am worried for you, Master Mercutio. Whenever you are without me, you find trouble. Your lord father will not be happy with you, nor will Bruna. What will I do with you?"

But Mercutio did not reply, for he was not listening. He gazed back at the piazza where his friends still were. In just another day, confetti and vibrant lights would light up the place he called his home and change it into a wonderland. He and his friends would drink and dance without the threat of being caught by their handlers. Best of all, on Carnevale nights, he was always overcome with happiness brought upon him by simply being a Veneitan, and being with his people.

When they did return home, Mercutio had not taken two steps into the hall when Bruna appeared. He feigned a smile, which she quickly and sarcastically returned, and she grabbed his ear and dragged him into the kitchen. "Ow, ow, ow…"


End file.
